


Glee: One-Hit Wonders

by aubreyli



Category: Glee
Genre: Gen, M/M, No real warnings apply, Other, Some are sad, author has a very low tolerance for angst in this fandom, but most are either fluffy or smutty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1524458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubreyli/pseuds/aubreyli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Glee one-shots and ficlets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spin the Bottle

**Author's Note:**

> Set and written in early season 2.

Ten minutes after Blaine has lured Kurt away from the game under the flimsiest of excuses ("Hey Kurt, let's go check on Pavarotti; he didn't look too good this morning"), because Blaine has had enough of Kurt kissing every single boy -- _hard_ , with _tongue_ , while his eyes never left Blaine's for a second -- his bottle landed on, and Blaine may have exceptional self control for a teenage boy but he's still a _teenage boy_ \-- ten minutes after all that, Blaine has Kurt pressed up against the door of an empty classroom (Blaine has keys; one of the perks of being House Prefect), his hips and thighs pinning Kurt in place against the wood, his hands holding Kurt's wrists over his head, and his tongue and teeth tearing at the collar of Kurt's dress shirt to expose enough throat for Blaine to suck bruises into that milk-white, baby-soft skin, and Kurt's moaning in his ear, squirming and writhing and _begging_ , but Blaine doesn't care, because --  
  
"This is what I get for being a gentleman, isn't it?" Blaine growls, leaving Kurt's throat and biting at Kurt's open, kiss-flushed (from all that kissing _other boys_ that Kurt has been doing tonight) mouth. "This is what I get for wanting to wait until you were ready? For not taking advantage and bending you over a desk the day you came to Dalton?"  
  
And Kurt, despite being so delirious with lust and need that he's literally _teetering_ on the edge of coming in his pants, manages to scrape together just enough coherence to gasp out, "I told you I was ready; listen next time," before orgasm takes over and he's just _gone._


	2. Dance Dance (Revolution?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set and written in early season 2. Contains Wyatt, the fandom in-joke, also known as fist-pumping-kid.

"It's sort of part of the Spoiled Rich Kid Trifecta," Blaine says with a shrug, as he effortlessly guides Kurt through another spin. "You know, along with horseback riding and table etiquette."  
  
"Oh," Kurt says, still not looking directly at Blaine, because Blaine's beautiful eyes look like stars in the shimmering lights, and his smile makes Kurt's knees forget how to work properly. He looks around the room instead, and his eyes just happen to fall on Wyatt, who is enthusiastically dancing in his seat, punctuating his movements with frequent, blatantly off-tempo fist-pumps.   
  
"Wyatt's... well," Blaine says, when Kurt looks at him in confusion. "Wyatt's parents are famous Europop singers. Apparently, they played their albums constantly during the nine months before he was born. We try not to hold it against him."

 


	3. Blaine at McKinley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set and written in mid season 2.

"Your eyelashes are like feathers," a dazed-looking blonde (must be Brittany) says dreamily as she reaches up to touch his face. "They're sooo long."  
  
"I bet it's not the only thing you've got that's _long_ ," the brunette beside her (Santana?) adds, a shark grin on her face as she slides her hand down his back (yup, Santana).  
  
"You girls do know that I'm gay, right?" Blaine asks, keeping one eye closed and gently but firmly removing Santana's hand before it dips too far below his belt.  
  
"It's okay, so are we," Santana says, leaning in so close she's practically nuzzling his cheekbone. "But Hummel looks like he's about to strangle us both with his scarf, and he's so _cute_ when he's jealous, isn't he?"   
  
"Like an angry bunny," Brittany agrees with a giggle.  
  
They're right, of course, so Blaine just holds still and waits for his hero to come.


	4. Out of the Closet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set and written mid season 2.

"Ohmygod Blaine, _harder_ ," Kurt moans, his head lolling back against the closet door with a loud _thunk._ "Blaine, please, oh please, harder, I need it, _oh._ " He scrapes his nails against the door, scrabbling futilely for purchase against the polished wood.  
  
" _Fuck,_ Kurt," Blaine pants, gripping the doorknob for dear life. "You're so _tight_ , how can you still be so tight? God, I can do this forever, please say you'll let me do this forever."  
  
"Yes yes, anything you want, _oh_ , anything, just don't stop fucking me -- _AH, BLAINE!_ " Kurt shrieks, then lets out a quieter stream of "oh, oh, oh," in perfect time with the smack of Blaine's knees against the door.  
  
"ALL RIGHT, WE'LL STOP SPYING ON YOU, JUST LET US OUT!" David yells, pounding furiously on the inside of the closet door.  
  
"PLEASE?" Wes adds, his fingers jammed tightly in his ears.  
  
On the other side, a fully clothed Blaine smiles innocently as he maintains his iron grip on the doorknob. "Do you hear something, Kurt?"  
  
Kurt smiles blithely back, also fully clothed and seated comfortably on the chair currently pressed against the closet door.  "Nope."


	5. June 24, 2011

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In celebration of New York's marriage equality legislation.

They're with their families (or more accurately, they're with _Kurt's_ family; Blaine's parents are out of town on business), huddled close on the couch, eyes glued to the screen.  Kurt and Blaine have each other's hands in a death-grip, Rachel's white-knuckled on Finn's bicep -- because her dads are away and she needs to be with people who _understand_ , and Burt and Carole haven't moved a muscle since they sat down.

When the announcement comes, no one says a word, or moves, or even _breathes_.  Then they look at each other, wondering for just a second if this is actually a collective delusion, or if it really happened. 

Rachel breaks first. "OH MY GOODNESS THEY DID IT!" she screams, bouncing up and down on the couch and taking Finn's arm -- and shoulder, and entire upper body, really, because she might be small, but she's _strong_ \-- with her.  "THEY DID IT IT PASSED IT PASSED IT PASSED!"

And then it's like a switch is flipped, because everyone is hugging everyone and there is crying all around, and their phones are all buzzing (of course they put them on vibrate -- this is _history_ ) with calls and texts from their friends and family that they're all going to completely ignore until the hugging stops, and Blaine...

Blaine is holding on to Kurt like he'll die if he lets go, face buried in against Kurt's neck.  He's crying into Kurt's shirt, but that's okay because this shirt is cotton and washable, and besides, Kurt is crying into his cardigan, and oh God, why is he even thinking about _clothes_ when -- when --

"I love you," Kurt whispers, and even amidst all the screaming and jumping up and down, and Finn shouting "USA! USA! USA!" at football stadium volumes, Blaine can hear his words with sharp, pin-drop clarity.

"I love you too," he whispers back, and smiles with his sob when Kurt holds him closer.

They separate slowly, arms sliding over each other's bodies to prolong the contact, until their only point of connection is in their clasped hands, and -- of course -- their wet eyes.

And it's not even that there aren't already places, even in this country, where they could be together, but this is _New York,_ this is their _future,_ and this is their future welcoming them with open arms (well, relatively, the calm, pragmatic part of him thinks, mustn't forget the amendment).  This is... this is good.  This is good for them.

He smiles at Kurt, and adjusts his grip on Kurt's left hand, skating past the pinkie finger, to the one next to it.  He takes the base of the finger between his thumb and index finger, and rubs a slow circle all around the circumference, once, and then again, and a third time for good measure. 

Kurt stiffens for a brief moment, then lifts his head to look at Blaine, eyes wide and hopeful and questioning and uncertain, all at the same time.

Blaine smiles, trying to put everything he feels about Kurt into that smile – every dream he has about their future, every _yes_ and _I do_ and _always_ that he hopes he’ll get to say for the rest of their lives – and gently taps his index finger three times against Kurt’s skin.

When Kurt smiles back, it’s like a new dawn breaking over the horizon, bright and beautiful in a way that fills Blaine with a deep, sweet ache, and he is reminded, yet again, that he is utterly and irrevocably in love with this boy. 

Kurt returns the three taps, and pulls Blaine back into his arms, and kisses him on the lips.

And that's when Rachel slams into them and grabs them to join her conga line.


	6. Go and Ride the Sun Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "The Last Five Years."

It would be easier if he could hate Kurt, or even resent him, but Blaine knows he isn’t built for that.  He could no more hate Kurt Hummel than he could reverse the flow of blood in his body, or stop his own heart from beating. 

He boxes Kurt up instead, flipping through his memories and pulling the pages that contain Kurt, from the first time he saw Kurt smile, his first laugh, first joke, first fight, first kiss, first dance, first touch, all the way to the last kiss, the last dance, last touch.  He collects as many as he can find, and when he has found them all and has bound them all together, he is surprised by how massive the resulting bundle is, and how empty the archives of his memory feel, with those pages gone.  He allows himself one brief, final moment to savour the remembered light of Kurt’s warm glow – no less bright or shining for all that it is but a memory – before he closes the box. 

He buries this box deep, deep down, all the way down into the bowels of himself, past the box that contains the gut-clenching fear of that first punch (to Joseph, not himself, which made it even _worse_ ); past the one containing the memory of walking out of the men’s room of a club he had to be sneaked into, wondering why this orgasm made him feel slightly dirty instead of just sated; past even the box that holds the quickly hidden look of disappointment on his father’s face when he stood up at the dinner table, trembling too hard to keep his voice steady, and said, “I’m gay.” 

Perhaps one day, he’ll be able to return here, and retrieve the box, and find that the edges have dulled enough that they will no longer bloody his hands.

He feels heavier, which he thinks should be an odd feeling after one has just undergone this kind of a purge, but somehow, it’s like the silences and empty spaces that Kurt has left behind have their own weight that drags down his shoulders, the corners of his lips and eyes, even his hair.  He also feels broken, like he is a piece glass that someone has hurled against some hard, unforgiving surface, shattering him and scattering the pieces of himself all over the place.

A quick check in the mirror confirms, much to his displeasure, that he looks as bad as he feels.

Well, that won’t do.

He takes a deep breath, and starts to put himself back together.  It’s a surprisingly painful process, even for him, and he’s had plenty of practice at it.  There are pieces missing, of course, ones that he knows he’ll never get back, but that’s all right; Blaine has plenty of lacquer, and he just layers it into the jagged voids, over and over, until they smooth out.

He moved too quickly this time, he decides, thinking back to the cold, vicious arguments near the end that had finally splintered them beyond repair.  He’d been so hungry for affection that he had pretty much spilled the contents of himself at Kurt’s feet.  He’ll be more careful next time.

He checks the mirror again.  Better, but he can still see the cracks.

Perhaps a change is in order.  He turns his head this way and that, gazing at his reflection critically.  He hasn’t shaved in a while, and his jaw is covered in a light dusting of stubble.  His eyes have also been dry and itchy lately, so he’s taken to wearing his glasses instead of his contacts.  His hair spirals loose and ungelled on his head, and the combination of the curls with the facial hair and the glasses makes him look almost like a different person.  He likes that, he thinks.  It’s something new, and he looks older like this, more mature, more respectable, and not at all like a boy who once might have given his heart away and had it returned to him in shreds.

This time, when he smiles at the man in the mirror, he smiles back.  It’s not perfect yet; the eyes aren’t quite right, and there is still a hint of strain at the corners of his lips, but time and frequent practice will fix that.  For now, though, this is good enough.

Straightening his shoulders, Blaine Anderson goes to greet the world again, feeling like a new man.


	7. T-Minus Thirty-Eight Minutes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gift-fic for the peerless deliciousale.

“Harder, Blaine.”

 

It’s stupid.  It’s stupid and ridiculous and a complete confirmation of everything their friends have said about them being joined at the hip and co-dependent and pathetically attached to one another, and they’ll both feel a little silly about it afterwards, because Blaine’s only going on a week-long medical brigade, not heading off to join a freaking mission to the moon.

 

“Oh _God_ , Kurt.”

 

But Kurt’s not thinking about that now.  Right now, he’s thinking about the fact that this is going to be the longest they’ve ever been away from each other since they _met._

“More, please – oh God, fuck me harder, Blaine, _please_.”

He’s thinking about how he’s going to be waking up alone tomorrow, in their too-large bed, for the first time since they bought it together five months ago, and how he’s going to be waking up alone the day after tomorrow as well, and the day after that, rinse and repeat seven times until Blaine’s plane gets back a week and a day from now. 

 

“So tight, you feel _so_ fucking good, Kurt, oh my God.”

 

He’s thinking about coming home to an empty, silent apartment, about not having anyone join in and harmonize with him when he sings in the shower, about taking out two plates from the cupboard out of habit and having to put one back, and about feeling off all day because there won’t be a sticky note saying, “I love you” tucked into his lunch bag.

 

“Yes, right there – ah!  Oh Blaine, right there, again, again!”

 

But also?  He’s thinking about the fact that in thirty-eight minutes, Blaine’s taxi is going to pull up and take him away from here, away from _Kurt,_ and not bring him back for another hundred and twenty-seven hours and fifty-three minutes, and Kurt plans to spend every second of those thirty-eight minutes imprinting Blaine onto every cell in his body, one last time.

 

“Oh God, oh God, oh God, Kurt, _Kurt,_ ” Blaine moans, panting harshly into Kurt’s shoulder as his fingers dig deep grooves into the backs of Kurt’s thighs, deep enough to bruise, as he rocks hard and fast into Kurt’s body.

 

Kurt keens helplessly, head tossed back and shaking with need, wishing he could spread his legs wider, get Blaine deeper inside him, but he can’t – not without loosening the hold his legs have around Blaine’s hips.  He hates fucking like this because he can’t do anything but hang on as Blaine pounds him, and he loves it because Blaine can do anything to him – fuck him as hard as he likes – and all Kurt can do is just take it. 

 

“Blaine, fuck me,” he begs with what little voice he has left, from all the screaming he’s done in the last twenty-four hours.  “Please, just fuck me.”

 

This is actually their fourth “one last time.”  The first was in bed that morning, with Kurt holding Blaine’s wrists down as he rode him to a mind-meltingly hot orgasm.  The second came half an hour later in the shower, Blaine on his hands and knees with Kurt pounding into him from behind and hot water cascading over them both.  The third started out as a (relatively) innocent make out session in the kitchen, but ended with Kurt on his back on the kitchen island, hands scrabbling uselessly for purchase on the smooth marble as Blaine moaned around his dick and worked him mercilessly with four fingers.

 

“I am fucking you,” Blaine gasps in response, sounding as raspy as sandpaper, both from his share of the screaming and from the blowjob he just gave Kurt no more than twenty minutes ago. 

 

Kurt shakes his head stubbornly, and grips Blaine’s chin to force Blaine to meet his eyes.  “No, _really_ fuck me.  I want to feel it.”  He tightens his legs around Blaine’s middle and rolls his hips to meet each of Blaine’s thrusts.  “I want you to fuck me so hard that I’m _aching_ for all of next week.  I want to remember this every time I sit down.”

 

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” Blaine exhales in a rush, and increases the pace and force of his thrusts.

 

“I – oh – I want people to—to turn and stare at me as I limp down the street, and feel jealous because they only _wish_ they were getting it so good—ah, _God_.”  He pauses to breathe, sucking in air in loud, harsh pants.  “I want—I want to be so sore that I won’t even finger myself until you get back and fuck me aga—mph!”

 

“Shut up,” Blaine snarls, before he dives right back to kiss Kurt again, crushing their lips together and fucking Kurt’s mouth with his tongue as hard as he’s fucking Kurt’s ass with his cock.

 

Kurt groans deep in his throat and kisses Blaine back, sucking briefly on Blaine’s tongue before he takes Blaine’s full, luscious lower lip between his teeth and _bites,_ almost hard enough to break the skin, and Blaine goes _wild_ against him, _slamming_ their hips together so viciously hard that Kurt’s head and shoulders are knocked back against the wall in dull, rhythmic _thumps_.  Every thrust sends Kurt spiralling faster and faster towards completion, and he barely has time to get a hand around his cock before his wave crests and he’s _coming,_ shouting hoarsely and shuddering uncontrollably in Blaine’s arms. 

 

Blaine doesn’t stop – he pounds Kurt through his orgasm, hitting his prostate and keeping Kurt on his orgasm high for ten, twenty, Kurt loses count after that, increasingly erratic thrusts, until Blaine suddenly seizes and screams and _comes_ , his cock jerking as he shoots deep into Kurt’s still-spasming hole. 

 

Kurt closes his eyes and pants for air, feeling Blaine’s chest heave against his as he does the same.  He unhooks his ankles from around Blaine’s hips and lowers his legs, slowly and carefully, onto the floor, whimpering a little as Blaine slips out of him with an obscenely wet sound.  He lean heavily back against the wall and lets Blaine sag against him, holding him and petting his sweaty curls with half-limp and trembling fingers.

 

He looks over at the clock on the wall.  Sixteen minutes; just enough time for Blaine to take another shower – alone, this time; Kurt’s not stupid, and get dressed.  He sighs heavily and holds Blaine closer.

 

“I’ll call every day,” Blaine promises, his voice muffled against Kurt’s sweaty neck.

 

“You won’t be able to,” Kurt counters. “They barely have reliable running water there, much less a phone capable of long-distance calling.”

 

Blaine makes an unhappy sound that Kurt knows from experience means, _must you ruin my fun?_ “Then I’ll call as often as I can, and just think loving thoughts at you when I can’t.”

 

Kurt’s lips curve.  “You should be doing that anyway.”  He turns his head and presses a firm kiss to Blaine’s jaw.  “I’ll miss you.”

 

He feels Blaine smile against his skin.  “I love you.”

 

“I love you too.”


	8. All the Love in the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Fleetwood Mac's "Songbird"

Kurt is an early riser. He’s not actually a morning person; he’d sleep until noon every day if he could, but flawless skin and slender limbs require care and daily maintenance, and all that takes time.

Blaine, being one of those lucky people to whom beauty comes easily and without much effort on his part, likes to sleep late, so there are often long hours between the time when Kurt wakes up and when Blaine does the same. Kurt doesn’t mind though – quite the opposite, actually. Often, he’ll even set his alarm an additional half hour earlier, so that he can really take his time to _enjoy_ this: the warm press of Blaine’s body against his own, and the slow, steady rhythm of Blaine’s breathing.

He never gets tired of looking at Blaine. It’s probably weird at this stage in their relationship, but Kurt swears that every time Blaine smiles at him, he still feels that same gut-punch of awe and desire that he felt the very first time Blaine smiled at him, a lifetime ago at the bottom of a spiralling staircase. Kurt’s pretty sure that you’re not supposed to be _more_ in love with someone after you’ve been together for over ten years than you were the first time you kissed, but he can’t help it – it’s as if, every time he thinks he finally has a handle on how much he loves Blaine, that he can’t possibly love Blaine any more than this, Blaine will say something or do something, and Kurt will discover, to his own astonishment, that there are wholly untapped depths to his wells of love for this wonderful, incredible man.

Most of the time, he’s content to lie there and just drink in the sight of him, letting his gaze follow the beautifully drawn lines of his face and jaw, the long, black brushstrokes of his eyelashes, and the tender curve of his mouth. Sometimes, that will be enough for him, and he’ll eventually get out of bed and go about his morning routine, smiling and suffused with warmth.

But sometimes, the emotions will rush up too quickly, overwhelming him, filling him, and he’ll _have_ to tell Blaine or he’ll burst.

He won’t wake Blaine, he won’t even whisper in his ear. Instead, he’ll scoot down on the bed, until his head is level with Blaine’s chest. He’ll press his ear on the spot right over Blaine’s heart and spend a few minutes just listening to it beat, steady and strong. He knows, as any person who passed high school science knows, that the heart does nothing more than pump blood, that love is much more likely to reside in the brain than in the heart. But Kurt is old-fashioned like that, a romantic, and so he’ll turn his face downward, press his lips against Blaine’s warm, warm skin, and whisper.

He tells Blaine a lot of things during those moments, secrets that he would never tell Blaine when he’s awake. 

He says things like this: “When I first met you, I thought I was dreaming. Sometimes, I think I’m still dreaming, and that one day, I’ll wake up and find that you never existed.” 

And things like this: “Sometimes I wish that you weren’t as gorgeous and amazing as you are, because you can do so much better than me, and I’m terrified of the day when you’ll realize that.” 

And this: “I don’t think I could have gotten through my junior year of high school without you. I think you might have saved my life.”

Sometimes he just whispers, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” over and over again, until his lips and tongue stumble over the syllables and the words muddle together and lose all meaning.

Blaine, still sound asleep, hears nothing of this, though Kurt imagines that perhaps the sentiment at least gets through to him, because Blaine will sometimes tighten his arms around Kurt and hold him closer. On those mornings, he lets himself sleep in a little, cuddling close to Blaine’s warmth and feeling like they’re the only two people in the world.


	9. Untitled Kurt-rides-Blaine ficlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gift-fic for the indomitable deliciousale.

“Hands over your head,” Kurt repeats, for what feels like the hundredth time since they got started.  “Blaine, if I have to say this one more time, I’m tying them to the bedposts.”

 

Blaine makes a soft, high sound underneath him, and his cock jerks inside Kurt’s body even as he brings his hands shakily back up to grip the slats of the headboard.  “S-sorry, sorry,” he manages, through his breathlessness.  “Please don’t tie me up.”

 

“Liar,” Kurt says knowingly, and leans forward until his mouth is brushing the curve of Blaine’s ear.  The move shifts the angle of Blaine’s cock inside him, and Kurt has to pause and bite down on a shuddering moan before he can continue.  “You’d love it if I tied you up, wouldn’t you?” he whispers hotly into Blaine’s ear, his breath ruffling the edge of the blindfold.  “You’d let me do it.  You’d let me do anything to you, if it meant I’d let you come.”

 

“Oh GOD,” Blaine groans, his head lolling back on the pillow as he pants harshly and raggedly.  Kurt can see the veins and tendons strain in Blaine’s arms as he tries to keep his hands on the headboard, as he fights to keep himself from grabbing Kurt by the hips, rolling him over onto his back, and pounding his brains out the way Blaine usually does when Kurt teases him like this.  “Yes,” Blaine begs, voice low and cracked from desperation, “anything, anything you want – oh please, Kurt, please, I need – Kurt, please?”

 

“Not yet,” Kurt replies as he straightens back up and starts to move again.  “Just a little longer,” he adds soothingly, when Blaine cries out in frustration.  “I’ll get you there, I promise.”

 

It’s crazy how intoxicating this feels, to hold the boy he loves in thrall like this, knowing that Kurt can make him moan or beg with a tightening of his muscles or a twist of his hips.  Kurt knows that he could never manage to hold off for so long if Blaine didn’t already get him off twice – once with his tongue and another with his cock – and Kurt would honestly think himself cruel and ungrateful for repaying Blaine’s excellent orgasms with this kind of prolonged teasing, if not for the fact that Kurt knows Blaine LOVES it.  Blaine is careful and thorough, a total perfectionist, and makes love like he’s performing life-saving surgery – and usually Kurt loves that, gets off on it like nothing else, which makes it all the more thrilling that he can turn all of that on its head with nothing more than a slow kiss and a softly whispered, “Let me.”

 

That Blaine trusts him enough to let go like this, and just let Kurt take care of him, that turns him on more than anything their bodies can do for each other.

 

“I love you,” Kurt gasps, as he and Blaine start to fall into their usual rhythm, point and counterpoint with their hips surging and crashing into each other like waves.  “I love you so much.”

 

“I love you too,” Blaine gasps in response, and that’s something else Kurt doesn’t think he’ll ever get over: that every time he says it, Blaine says it back, even when Blaine’s out of his mind with the need to come, or he’s little more than a hollow husk of exhaustion, or he’s seething with venom and rage after one of their rare, epic fights – he still says it back, every time.

 

Suddenly, the teasing isn’t fun anymore; Kurt wants to come NOW, he wants BLAINE to come now, he wants to watch Blaine lose it and fill Kurt up with his come so that Kurt can finger himself afterwards, hours later, and feel how slick and wet he is inside.  He braces his hands on Blaine’s belly and fucks himself on Blaine’s cock, hard and fast and unrelenting, the muscles of his legs tensing as he shoves himself up and slams himself down. 

 

It’s rough and sloppy and Kurt misses his prostate more often than not, but he doesn’t care, because Blaine’s screaming hoarsely as his whole body starts to seize and shake, and Kurt remembers just in time to yank off Blaine’s blindfold.  Their eyes meet for a fraction of a second – Blaine’s so lust-blown that they look almost black – before Blaine throws his head back and COMES, deep and long inside Kurt, and Kurt’s moaning and frantically palming his cock and it doesn’t take more than a few fast jerks before he’s coming too, the force of it arching his back and knocking the breath from his lungs.

 

When Kurt comes back to himself again, he’s plastered across Blaine’s chest and cradled in his arms as he pets Kurt’s hair in gentle, drugging strokes.  Blaine’s not in him anymore – he tends to get sensitive quickly after orgasm – but Kurt’s too comfortable to really complain about the emptiness.  He sighs contentedly, and snuggles more deeply against Blaine.

 

“Good?” he hears Blaine ask.

 

“Very,” he replies, smiling lazily against Blaine’s warm, sweaty skin.  “Hush now, sleepy.”

 

He hears Blaine huff a quiet laugh, then feels a soft kiss to his hair.  “Love you.”

 

“You too.”

 

 


	10. Untitled phone-sex ficlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is really sort-of phone-sex. It's phone-sex written by someone who's too embarrassed to write actual phone-sex.

“You go first,” Kurt says, once he’s comfortably laid out on his bed with his door locked and his phone in his hand.

 

“Okay,” Blaine replies, his voice sounding slightly tinny.

 

There is a moment of silence.

 

“Blaine?”

 

"Sorry, I'm trying to think of what to say," Blaine says, hurriedly.  "But my mind is kind of blanking right now."

 

Kurt thinks he can hear soft clicking sounds in the background, and sighs.  “Blaine, are you _Googling how to have phone sex?”_

 

There is another moment of silence.

 

“Why don’t I start?” Kurt offers.

 

“Wouldyouplease?” Blaine says, his breath hissing out in a relieved rush.

 

Kurt rolls his eyes, and props his arm on his pillow so that he doesn't have to strain to hold the phone against his ear.  "What are you wearing?"

 

"Uh, clothes?" Blaine replies, hesitantly.  "T-shirt and pyjama bottoms."

 

"Wait, am I supposed to lie?" Blaine adds, when Kurt doesn't say anything.  "The website I'm on right now says that I'm supposed to say that I'm wearing something sexy.  Or say that I'm not wearing anything at all."

 

"You really don't know what you're doing, do you?" Kurt says, a little awed by how _bad_ Blaine is at this -- Blaine, who's pretty much perfect at everything, especially _sexual_ everythings.  It's... actually kind of endearing.

 

On the other end of the line, Blaine makes a soft, frustrated noise.  "I just.... I don't get how I'm supposed to touch myself and somehow pretend that it's you.  I mean, I know how you touch me, and one of the reasons why it's _so good_ because I can't replicate it for myself.  And when I try, it just makes me even more aware that it's not you who's touching me, and that just makes me miss you _more_."

 

"Blaine," Kurt murmurs, as a wave of fondness surges in his chest.  It never ceases to delight and – to be honest, _amaze –_ him, how Blaine is so open and earnest when it comes to their relationship, how Blaine can say things like _I need you,_ and _I’ll love you forever_ and make it sound like the easiest thing in the world.  “Look, Blaine, we don't have to do this if you don't want to.  We can just talk."

 

And Kurt means that, even as he’s squashing a bit of disappointment, because he’s kind of wanted to try phone sex forever.  And also, he’s maybe not handling Blaine’s absence as well as he’d like, if the number of hours that Kurt has been spending with his favourite vibrator (not nearly as good as Blaine’s cock, but beggars can't be choosers) is any indication.

 

"No," Blaine says, "I want to do this, but not – not _this._ I'm not making any sense.  Can I just try something else?"

 

Kurt furrows his brows, then realizes that Blaine can't see that, and says, "Go ahead.  What do you have in mind?"

 

“Just listen to me," Blaine answers.  "And um, can you not touch yourself?  I don’t think I’ll be able to do this if I know that you’re touching yourself.”

 

Kurt shivers at the new hoarseness Blaine's voice, the way it’s suddenly dropped an entire octave.  That's Blaine's sex-voice, the one that Blaine doesn't know he has, which is probably part of the reason why it is so sexy in the first place.  There's a lot that Kurt would do for that voice; there's a lot that Kurt _has_ done for that voice, and okay, he should probably take off his sweatpants now.

 

“Okay,” he says.  “Go ahead.”

 

"I think about you when I jerk off," Blaine begins, in a low, hushed tone of voice that feels incredibly intimate, like Blaine's lying beside him and whispering right into Kurt's ear.  "I’ve been picturing you naked and spread out underneath me, like you were the night before I left.  You’re so beautiful Kurt, and I wish you’d let me spend more time looking at you.”

 

Kurt shuts his eyes, feeling his breathing hitch the way it always does – even after all this time – when Blaine tells him that he’s beautiful.

 

"I think about your neck, so smooth and so much paler than your face, especially at the nape, where it's usually covered by your hair.  I love sucking on your collarbones, especially on those days when you actually let me leave marks.  But I love sucking your nipples more, and I think you do too.”

 

He does, oh _how_ he does, and he arches up, almost reflexively, his nipples already peaked and straining toward an invisible mouth. 

 

“I love the way you lean towards me when I suck on them,” Blaine continues, and if Kurt had any excess breath, he would laugh at the appropriateness of it.  “I love how when you do that, I can feel your ribcage expanding when you breathe.  I don't know why I find that so hot, but I do.”

 

Kurt bites his lip and presses his palms firmly against his thighs as his body responds helplessly, too caught up in muscle memory to remember that it isn't actually happening, that the real Blaine – not the Blaine whose phantom touch is making every part of Kurt’s body sing – is hundreds of miles away.

 

“Kurt?” he hears Blaine murmur, sounding uncertain.  “Are—are you okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Kurt gasps back, voice weak and reedy, and maybe Blaine’s not bad at this after all.  “Please keep going.”


	11. Good for the Soul -- Missing Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A while ago, the peerless and incomparable the-cimmerians wrote this delightfully kinky gem of a fic called “Good for the Soul," if you’ve been living under a rock and haven’t read it yet — in which case, go read it first, and then come back. In fact, you should just read everything she’s ever written, ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains roleplay, consensual slut-shaming, mild humiliation, fantasy!dub-con.

“And then what happens?” Blaine asks softly, arms warm and secure around Kurt’s body, one hand carding through his hair while the other strokes the soft skin of his belly.

“Then you make me beg,” Kurt whispers, trembling a little from the intensity of the fantasy.  It shouldn’t still affect him so much, not now that he’s had the real thing, but it does, and he shuts his eyes and _shivers_.  “You don’t let me come until I’m screaming for it, loudly enough for _everyone_ to hear.”  He pauses for a moment, to let himself catch his breath.  “And that’s it.”

“Okay,” Blaine says.  He’s completely hard again; Kurt can feel him pressed against his back, just as Blaine can feel Kurt’s erection against his knuckles.  He is quiet for a long moment, Kurt’s last, darkest secret hanging heavy in the air, and then he says, “Do you want to try it?”

“What?”  Kurt tenses up immediately, feeling the bubble of warmth and intimacy surrounding them suddenly dissipate into nothingness.

“No, I don’t mean do it for _real,_ ” Blaine adds hastily, turning Kurt over so that he can press kisses to Kurt’s face.  “God, Kurt, I couldn’t share you even if you begged me – I’d go out of my mind.”  Blaine cups his cheek and looks at him, eyes wide and earnest and… _wanting_.  “I just meant as, like, a fantasy of our own.”

 _Our,_ a voice deep inside him echoes, making Kurt shiver again.  He’s accepted that Blaine likes doing this with him; he’s even (mostly) accepted that he _likes_ that Blaine likes doing this with him, but there’s still something in him that hisses and balks at the idea of exposing Blaine – sweet, compassionate, _wonderful_ Blaine – to the version of him that lives in the shadowy recesses of Kurt’s mind. 

He must have been silent for longer than he’d thought, because Blaine sounds hesitant and uncertain when he says, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to – it was just a thought.”  He smiles gently at Kurt, but he looks just the tiniest bit disappointed, and Kurt can feel the scales in his head tip from one side to the other.

“Okay, let’s try it.”

Blaine’s face brightens immediately, and he kisses him again, deep and hard and so filthily that Kurt’s breathless when Blaine finally pulls away.  “You know what to say if you want this to stop?”

“Yes,” Kurt says, and lets Blaine tug him upright and onto his feet.

Blaine holds Kurt’s gaze as he leads Kurt to the wall beside the bed, their footsteps silent on the carpeted floor.  “Put your palms against the wall and bend over.”

Kurt nods, swallowing convulsively, and obeys.  The wall feels cold against his hot, slick palms, and he forces himself to breathe deeply.

“Now close your eyes.”

The darkness magnifies everything.  Kurt can hear Blaine breathing behind him, and the pulse of his own blood in his ears.  He can feel his heart pounding rhythmically in chest, the heat of Blaine’s body as he presses up against Kurt’s back, and the silk of his lips as he drops a trail of kisses across Kurt’s shoulders.

“They’re all watching you, Kurt.”

“What?” He turns and tries to look at Blaine, only to have Blaine’s hand slide over his eyes and push his head back to face forward.

“They’re all watching you,” Blaine says again.  His voice is soft and sandpaper-rough, and pitched so low that Kurt has to strain to hear him.  “They’ve all already had a turn, but they all want you again.  I don’t blame them.  _Look_ at you.”  He runs his other hand down the length of Kurt’s back, and fits his palm over the curve of Kurt’s hip.  “Your _skin_ , Kurt – it practically begs to be marked.  I bet they love coming on you, watching your perfect skin get drenched in come.” 

Kurt moans, already so turned on that he’s starting to shake.  He can _feel_ their eyes on him, hot and hungry, rough hands stroking their impatient cocks as they wait for Blaine to finish with him so that they can use him again.  The plush carpet under the soles of his feet has turned to hard, gritty concrete, his hands are clutching at dirty drywall, and the air reeks of sweat and sex.

“But they’ll just have to wait,” Blaine continues, the hand on his hip sliding down the cleft of Kurt’s ass to stroke gently at his opening, loose and still a little sore from earlier.  “You’re _mine_ now, and I’m going to take my time with you.”

“Oh fuck,” Kurt whimpers, dropping his head down and shuddering helplessly as Blaine slides a finger into him.  None of the others do that – they’re all about efficiency, only fucking him for as long as they need to in order to get off, before passing him off to someone else.  But of course Blaine would be different; of course he’d want more from Kurt than just a hole to fuck.

“You’re all wet inside,” Blaine murmurs, his mouth hot against the skin of Kurt’s neck.  “And _so_ open – how many times have you already been used?”

Three: once bent over the dining room table and twice in bed, but that’s not part of the fantasy.  “I—I don’t know,” Kurt replies, cringing at how embarrassingly reedy his voice sounds.  “I lost count.”

“Poor thing,” Blaine croons, his voice honeyed with false sympathy.  He slides in another finger.  “You must be sore.  I bet they didn’t even have the courtesy to make _you_ come, did they?”  He crooks his fingers and presses them against Kurt’s prostate, chuckling when it makes Kurt gasp sharply.  “Luckily, I’m a _much_ nicer guy.”

 _Oh fuck, oh fuck, fuck, fuck_.  Blaine’s not just going to use him, Kurt realizes, panic and dismay rolling over him in waves.  He’s going to humiliate Kurt first by making him _like_ it.  “Please,” he whispers, even though he knows it won’t do him any good.

“Shhh.”  Blaine takes his hand off Kurt’s eyes (Kurt keeps them closed anyway) and presses his fingers against Kurt’s lips.  “Not yet.  That’s for later.”

Then Blaine’s sliding his fingers out and sliding his cock in, making Kurt moan at the delicious ache of the stretch.  He knows that he’s not supposed to enjoy this, but he can’t help it – Blaine feels so good inside him, filling him perfectly, and he doesn’t even realize that the fantasy’s starting to crumble until Blaine’s hand is suddenly over his eyes again and everything slots back into place.

“Are you close?” Blaine asks.  “Do you want to come?”

Kurt shakes his head, fiercely and wordlessly.  This is the only thing he has left, the only shred of his dignity that they haven’t stripped from him, and he bites down hard on the inside of his lip, using the sting of the bite to claw back some of his ability to think.

“No?”  Blaine pulls out again, slams back into him at a different angle – _oh fuck, right there –_ and Kurt just about chokes on his inhale.  “How about now?”

Kurt gives another frantic headshake, and this time, Blaine’s thrust comes with a vicious roll of the hips that makes Kurt’s knees shake, and there’s a brief, perilous moment when he thinks he’s going to collapse.  But then Blaine’s arm is around his waist and he’s lowering Kurt onto his hands and knees, and using the change in position to fuck Kurt even _harder,_ until Kurt can’t help himself – he can’t get enough air just by breathing through his nose; he has to open his mouth so he can _pant,_ his breath coming out in harsh, loud gasps in time with the rhythm of Blaine’s hips.  It’s good, fuck, it’s _so_ good, the way Blaine _drags_ his cock out of Kurt and then _waits_ with the tip pressed against Kurt’s entrance for a moment, just long enough for the emptiness to _ache,_ before he fucks back in.

Kurt’s moaning again, almost uncontrollably, and he doesn’t even realize that his litany has morphed from nonsensical syllables to a desperate stream of “yes, yes, yes,” until Blaine _stops_ and asks, “Yes what?”

“Yes, yes, I want,” Kurt whispers brokenly, feeling his face burn with humiliation, because he knows what’s next.  “I want to come.”

“Do you?  I don’t believe you,” Blaine says, and even though Kurt _knew_ this was coming, it still makes him sob with agonized need.  “I think you need to convince me.”

Kurt nods shakily.  “Please make me come,” he begs quietly, the last syllables fading into a groan as Blaine starts to fuck him again.

“Louder,” Blaine commands.  “I want to hear you.  I want _everyone_ to hear you beg for it.”

 _Oh God_.  “Please!”  Kurt almost forgot that they aren’t alone.  “I need it, please fuck me and make me come!”  He can hear the names they must be calling him as they race toward their own orgasms, growling filth under their breaths as they watch Kurt writhe on Blaine’s cock and beg for it like a slut.  He doesn’t even want to imagine what they’ll do to him once Blaine finishes with him (except he does, of course he does); how much harder they’ll use him now that they know how _hot_ he is for it.

“Good boy,” Blaine murmurs, right up against his ear, and then he reaches around to grasp Kurt’s cock.  “Come.”

Kurt loses it instantly, his orgasm hitting like a sucker-punch, knocking the air from his lungs and sending his body arching and tensing under wave after wave of electric pleasure that go on and on, ringing in his ears like the high note at the end of a song.  He dimly registers Blaine shouting and his hips jerking against Kurt’s ass, but even that is a distant second to the flood of ecstasy blazing from each of his nerve endings. 

He loses track of time after that, his head swimming as he slowly comes down from the orgasm-high, the adrenaline taking with it every ounce of strength in his muscles as it leaves his body.  He feels his arms and legs start to buckle, and he doesn’t even try to hold himself up – he just lets himself collapse gracelessly onto the carpet, sucking air in sharp, stuttering gasps and trembling every few seconds from the aftershocks.  _God,_ even his _fingertips_ are tingling.

“—urt?  Kurt?”  There are arms around him again, pulling him upright and against a warm, solid chest.  “Kurt?”

“Mmmm?” Kurt murmurs drowsily.  Part of him recognizes that they should probably talk about what just happened, but the rest of him is too blissed out to really care very much.

“Kurt?” Blaine sounds a little worried now, and Kurt sighs wistfully and opens his eyes.

“Yes?”

“Was that – was that good?  Did you like it?”

Kurt turns himself in Blaine’s arms, so that he can tuck his face against Blaine’s shoulder and look up into his beautiful, earnest face.  “Yes.  We can talk about it later.  Now take me to bed.”

He manages to stay awake just long enough to watch the relief and happiness bloom across Blaine’s face, before sleep claims him.


	12. Post-"The First Time" ficlet

The next morning, Kurt wakes up first.  Blaine is still asleep.  His face is smushed against the pillow, his hair could house a small woodland creature, his mouth is open, and he’s possibly drooling a little. 

He’s still achingly, gloriously, impossibly beautiful; the most beautiful thing Kurt has ever seen.  He’d been telling the truth, yesterday, when he’d told Blaine that Blaine took his breath away.  Blaine always has, ever since the first time Kurt saw him, one year ago (God, one year ago _to the day_ ; has it only been one year?  Or is that just how it is when you love someone, that you feel like you’ve known them for hundreds of lifetimes when you’ve really only known them for almost no time at all?).

Kurt shifts a little on the bed – slowly, to avoid waking him – and just looks at him, memorizes him, every detail of what he looks like, what he smells like, feels like, sounds like.  Then, Kurt closes his eyes and commits this entire moment to the deepest, most profound depths of his memory so that he’ll never, ever, ever forget, even if he lives to be a hundred years old: that in this moment, Kurt Hummel was utterly and completely _happy_.

When he opens his eyes again, Blaine is looking back at him, a soft smile on his lovely, sleep-flushed mouth.  Kurt leans in and presses a kiss to his lower lip, feeling Blaine’s smile widen against his mouth.  He sucks Blaine’s lower lip into his mouth and gently tugs Blaine toward him; Blaine takes the hint and follows, rolling them over until Kurt’s lying on his back.  Kurt spreads his legs automatically to accommodate Blaine’s body, and he sighs contentedly when he feels Blaine’s warm, solid weight settle on top of him.

Kurt loses track of how much time they spend kissing, parting his lips to invite Blaine’s tongue and then chasing Blaine’s tongue into his mouth when he withdraws.  They’re both hard, but there’s no real urgency, just as there wasn’t last night.  It doesn’t feel so much like they have all the time in the world as like they have somehow been taken _out_ of time, as though the rest of the world has been frozen, and will remain frozen until they choose to return to it.

It’s a ridiculously whimsical thought, and Kurt chuckles at his own silliness.

Blaine makes a soft, inquisitive sound at Kurt’s laughter, and pulls gently away.  “What is it?  What are you thinking about?”

Kurt shakes his head.  “Nothing,” he says, grinning up at Blaine.  “I’m just thinking about you – well, us.”

It’s amazing what making Blaine smile does to Kurt, how it fills him up with light and warmth that lingers long after they are forced to part.  Kurt closes his eyes and just lets Blaine kiss him, letting himself be lost in the feeling of being loved and cherished by someone he loves and cherishes in return.

One day, Kurt knows, all the way down into his bones, he’s going to marry Blaine Anderson.  They’re going to spend their entire lives together, and fifty, sixty, seventy years into the future, they’re still going to wake up just like this, Blaine is still going to kiss him, just like this, and he doesn’t _care_ about all the people who say that high school romances never work out.  Kurt Hummel found his soulmate at sixteen, and he fully intends to keep him.

Kurt plants one foot on the mattress and pushes, wrapping his arms around Blaine’s shoulders to hold him in place as he switches their positions.  He pulls his mouth away, looks Blaine squarely in the eyes, and grinds his hips down hard, feeling his breath catch when Blaine’s eyes darken and his face flushes with heat.

“Round two?” Kurt asks, his voice sounding low and husky even to his own ears.  And, because he can’t help teasing just a little, adds, “I’m only wearing one layer this time, so if the offer to rip my clothes off is still on the table…”

Blaine laughs, and pounces.


	13. Werewolf!Klaine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gift-fic for the adorable devonwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains violence, rough, but consensual sex, marking, possessiveness, and not-entirely-in-control!Blaine.

After Blaine leaves Karofsky a bloody mess on the ground, he goes to Kurt.  He doesn't mean to; he doesn't even realize where's he's going, his senses dulled by the bloodlust throbbing in his veins, until he opens a door and sees Kurt on the other side.  

His first human reaction (the wolf in him surges at the sight of Kurt, snarls mine mine mine take him fuck him show him whose bitch he is) is to close the door again and walk away, because he shouldn't be around Kurt when he's still throbbing with unfulfilled need (the wolf wanted to kill Karofsky for lusting after Kurt; it roared at him that Karofsky was a threat that had to be destroyed), but he can't make himself leave.

Tonight is the first night of the full moon, when the wolf is at its most powerful.  Normally, Blaine can fight it off, can push back its dark, roiling hunger for blood and sex, but not now, never now.

He takes a step forward, ignores Kurt's soft, confused, "Blaine?" and closes the door behind him.  Locks it, and watches Kurt's eyes widen at the snick of the lock sliding into place.

He knows what's coming, the wolf growls in Blaine's head.  I can smell his sweat.

He's scared, Blaine tries, even though he knows it's futile.

No, he's turned on.  Look at him, look at his eyes.  He wants this.  I can smell it.  I can taste it.

The wolf licks its chops, and Blaine does the same, and oh, Kurt's breath catches, his eyes darken, and -- Blaine looks down -- oh, yes, Kurt's hard and straining against the front of his pants.

And that's all the wolf needs to overpower Blaine's human self, and it moves him forward, cutting off Kurt's "What's the matter?" with a hard, messy kiss that almost knocks Kurt off his feet.  Kurt moans shakily against Blaine’s mouth, the moon affecting him too, making him submit far more readily than his human side would normally allow.

He should always be kept like this, the wolf urges as Blaine's hands shove Kurt backwards onto the bed, on his knees or on his back, desperate and begging to be used.

Yes – no, NO.  But it’s useless and Blaine knows it’s useless and the wolf howls its victory, scattering buttons left and right as he bares Kurt from neck to navel. 

“Beautiful,” Blaine croons, his hands roving over Kurt’s exposed torso, his skin flawless and pristine because Blaine’s too gentle, too weak to take his due and mark what’s his.  He remedies that immediately, tongue and teeth on Kurt’s pale, perfect throat until Kurt shakes beneath him.  Oh, he smells delicious, tastes even better, and Blaine loses himself for a moment in the sensual feast so delectably presented to him.

“Blaine,” Kurt whimpers, his voice cracking over the vowels – so beautiful, his Kurt, his Kurt – as he writhes against Blaine’s hip, trying to get more contact, more friction.  He digs his hands into Blaine’s hair, either to try to push him away or pull him closer – Blaine doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care – and then moans again, even louder, when Blaine knocks Kurt’s hands away and pins his wrists above his head.  “Blaine, fuck me, fuck me now.”

Blaine kisses Kurt again, pleased by the need in his voice, but displeased that he still has the audacity to demand that Blaine fuck him – he needs to be taught his place, the wolf whispers – and he bites down hard on Kurt’s lower lip, just short of drawing blood – he’ll bruise though, and Kurt’s bruises last for days because he’s so fair – before pulling away and flipping Kurt over onto his belly.

Oh, Kurt’s back is almost as gorgeous as his front, all sinuous curves and sharp, jutting angles that just beg to be sucked on.  He licks a path across the breadth of Kurt’s shoulders, his hand – the one not holding Kurt’s crossed wrists – sliding down Kurt’s side to palm his ass through his pants.  He feels Kurt’s hips move beneath him, and he frowns.  “Stop that,” he says, and spanks him once, hard.

Kurt freezes, and there’s a moment where Blaine thinks he might have gone too far (even the wolf is silent, because he is the wolf and he’d die before he hurts Kurt), but then Kurt lets out a tremulous, needy whine and raises his hips – for another, Blaine realizes, and the wave of lust that washes over him nearly cuts out his hearing.

Next time, he tells himself, and refocuses his attentions on undoing Kurt’s pants – with both hands; he doesn’t need to look to know that Kurt won’t move his arms – and pulling them down and off.  Kurt spreads his legs as soon as they’re free from the pants, and Blaine has two fingers inside him before Kurt even finishes moving, using his other hand to tilt his hips up to give Blaine better access. 

“Think you can take it with just two?” Blaine murmurs, bending down to tongue the dimples above Kurt’s ass.

“Yes,” Kurt says, nodding so forcefully that he makes the mattress shake.  “Please, please just fuck me.”

It’s a tight fit, but Blaine’s persistent and Kurt’s eager, and they both groan when Blaine finally bottoms out inside Kurt.  Blaine gives Kurt a moment to adjust, and then starts to move, his forearms pinning Kurt’s shoulders to the bed as he rolls his hips, slow and hard.

Kurt pants, half-broken syllables tumbling from his open mouth, and Blaine grins against Kurt’s back.  “You like that?” he asks, and grinds down even harder.

“Yes,” Kurt moans, his hips working as he tries to fuck himself on Blaine’s dick.  “I love it, oh god, harder, please.”

Blaine slides an arm around Kurt’s middle and lifts him onto his elbows and knees, using the increased leverage to fuck deeper and faster into him, pounding Kurt so hard that he skids forward a little on every thrust, only to have Blaine pull him back again.  Kurt jerks and shudders every time Blaine hits his prostate, as he buries his face in the pillow to muffle his cries.

Blaine fists a hand in Kurt’s hair and pulls his head up.  “No, I want to hear you.”  He thrusts in again, fast and mercilessly hard, and Kurt arches his back and wails.  “Good boy.  Whose good boy are you?”

“Y-y-oh fuck,” Kurt groans, his muscles already starting to tense as his body prepares for orgasm, and Blaine grits his teeth and drags his cock out of Kurt’s tight heat, gritting his teeth against his wolf’s fury and overwhelming lust.  “Blaine!”

“Whose?”

“I-I’m yours,” Kurt replies, his voice high and reedy with helpless need.  “Blaine, please, Blaine—”

“Say it again,” Blaine demands, hearing the wolf echo, Yes, MINE, almost drunk with triumph and approval.  Mark him.

“I’m yours!”

Mark him!  Blaine can feel his own orgasm start to coil and well up in his belly, and he grips Kurt’s hips with both hands so that he can slam into Kurt, as hard as he possibly can.  “Again!” 

“Yours!”  And fuck, Blaine can hear how close Kurt is, can feel how he’s holding on by the barest thread.  He shoves Kurt’s hips back down onto the mattress and traps Kurt under him.  MARK HIM NOW, the wolf rages, and Blaine sinks his teeth hard into the sensitive flesh right at the back of his neck and fucks into him, one more time.

“BLAINE!” Kurt screams and comes, pinned like a butterfly on Blaine’s teeth and cock, shouting hoarsely and tensing for what feels like hours, and so fucking tight that it’s a matter of seconds before Blaine’s coming too, panting harshly as he empties himself into Kurt’s ass. 

He keeps on fucking Kurt through both their orgasms, ignoring Kurt’s whimpers and his own oversensitivity, until it’s genuinely too much for him to continue.  He pulls out of Kurt slowly and carefully, starting to feel a little sore now that the adrenaline – and the wolf – is leaving him.  And if he’s feeling sore, Kurt must be seriously aching – Blaine slides down Kurt’s body and spreads Kurt’s ass with one hand, using the other to examine his hole.  It’s red and raw, but there’s no blood, for which Blaine is unspeakably relieved – for all that Kurt has told him that he doesn’t mind when Blaine gets a bit rough, Blaine would hate himself if he actually made Kurt bleed.

“I can hear you feeling guilty, you know,” Kurt says, and Blaine looks up to see his mate smiling sleepily down at him, his head pillowed in his crossed arms.  “Do something more productive and kiss me instead.”

Blaine smiles gratefully back, and obediently moves to press a gentle, soft kiss to Kurt’s mouth – one that Kurt immediately takes over, sliding his hand into Blaine’s hair and tilting his head for a better, deeper angle.  “I’m sorry,” Blaine murmurs, once they part.  “I shouldn’t have—”

Kurt snorts.  “Yeah, you can really see how much I didn’t enjoy myself,” he says, and pointedly looks down at the mess of semen smeared across his chest and belly.  Then his expression turns more serious.  “Karofsky?”

Blaine nods, and he knows that his wolf is well and truly sated when the name doesn’t so much as raise a growl.  “I’ll tell you about it later.”  He fits his body around the curve of Kurt’s back, and wraps an arm around Kurt’s waist, holding him close.  “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Kurt replies, his voice fading fast as he starts to nod off.  “And I belong to you.  Don’t... don’t ever believe...”

“I won’t,” Blaine promises, but Kurt is already asleep.


	14. The Word of Your Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: consent issues associated with bodyswapping, the complete and unapologetic absence of any explanation for how and why said bodyswapping occurred, poorly described sex scenes, stream-of-consciousness, lack of beta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fault for the origin of this fic lies solely with Ash (dapperdick), because he draws pretty pictures and has Blaine dick feelings. Please note also, that this fic is set well before “Original Song,” and thus before Kurt and Blaine get together.

It’s not weird, Kurt tells himself firmly, as he marches his ass – well, _Blaine’s_ ass now – to the bathroom.  It’s not weird and he’s not being a perv, because bodies have needs and they don’t know how long it’s going to take for them to fix this bizarre bodyswap business and he wouldn’t want Blaine to stop bathing or relieving  _his_ body, so it’s only right to extend Blaine the same courtesy.

It helps that undressing pretty much feels the same in this body as it did in his own, especially now that he’s gotten used to the Dalton uniform.  Well, a few things are different – the scratch of chest hair against the cotton shirt is, um, new, and Blaine’s sides are apparently kind of ticklish, but Kurt’s still going to handle it like the mature and dignified young man that he is.  Though he probably shouldn’t have used the word “handle,” because now all he can think of is wrapping his hand around Blaine’s – no, no!  Kurt pauses and shakes his head – Blaine’s head – vigorously.  He’s just going to take a shower.  It’ll be perfectly innocent.  He’s not even going to look, not even a peek just to see if Blaine’s real body looks anything like what Kurt has kind-of-sort-of-maybe-all-the-time been fantasizing about since Blaine song-invited Kurt to put his hands on his skintight jeans.

Oh, Blaine wears briefs.  That’s definitely not going to be something he thinks about now every time he looks at Blaine’s ass.

It’s easier once Kurt steps into the tub and closes the sliding door behind him; fewer reflective surfaces means that he can actually open his eyes again, and – wow, Blaine has nice arms – turn on the water for what is probably going to be the shortest, least thorough shower he’s ever taken in his life.

He turns around, and – “Holy  _shit!_ ” – almost ends his life right then and there when he sees  _Blaine_ looking back at him, because Blaine’s shower door is  _mirrored_ and why would anyone have shower doors with mirrors that face the  _inside?_ Jesus Christ, Kurt’s  _heart,_ thank goodness for non-stick mats or Kurt would be returning Blaine’s body…

Oh.  Blaine’s body.  All of it. 

Okay – really, let’s be honest here – Kurt’s going to see… things sooner or later anyway; it’s not he’s going to pee with his eyes closed, after all.  There’s no harm in looking – it’s touching that would be weird and inappropriate, and he’s just going to look.

Wow, that’s Blaine’s body.

Intellectually, Kurt knows that Blaine doesn’t have anything that he doesn’t also have, so it’s not like seeing Blaine naked was ever going to be a grand revelation.  It’s just… Blaine has a penis. Of course, he’d never expected Blaine to  _not_ have a penis, but actually  _seeing_ it still feels… strangely momentous.

It’s darker than Kurt’s, though not much darker than the rest of Blaine’s skin, and surrounded by fine whorls of black, curling hair that sharpen to a thin line as it travels up Blaine’s belly to his navel.  It’s a nice penis, Kurt thinks, feeling a little lightheaded.  It doesn’t look aggressive or intimidating, the way the penises look in porn.  It kind of looks like it would feel good to hold in your hand or in your mouth, like you could just tilt it up and guide it towards—

No,  _no_ , he is not doing this, he’s going to stop looking at Blaine’s stupidly attractivepenis right and just take his stupid shower and get out, and then maybe grab a bag of ice from the freezer or something. 

He turns around, deliberately turns the water several degrees cooler, and grabs the loofah and… soap.  Not even the good kind of soap.  Kurt sighs, but lathers up anyway.  If –  _when_  – he and Blaine finally get together, Kurt will have plenty of time to introduce Blaine to real bath products.  He scrubs the loofah across Blaine’s torso, front and back, then his arms and legs, keeping his gaze staunchly forward, his touches strictly clinical, and his hands  _away_ from Blaine’s… parts. 

Although… it’s not like he isn’t already touching Blaine, and he’s already proven to himself that he  _can_ do it without becoming inappropriate.  And his – his penis is just another body part, after all, and, well, what if he doesn’t clean Blaine  _there_  and Blaine gets a urinary tract infection or something?  What kind of a friend would Kurt be if he subjected Blaine’s body to the dangers associated with poor genital hygiene?

He takes a deep breath, then another because his heart is beating inexplicably quickly, and reaches down.

He was right.  It does feel good – warm and kind of soft, rippled with veins that lie prominently against the dusky smoothness of the shaft.  Kurt gives it a tentative squeeze, gasping quietly when Blaine’s penis gives a little twitch.  He swallows hard and starts to pump, slowly, feeling heat pool in his belly and creep up his neck as Blaine’s penis hardens and lengthens under his fingers. 

Kurt can hear his blood pounding, his breathing becoming quick and shallow as he stares, hopelessly transfixed by how much  _more_ of Blaine’s penis there is now than there was a few minutes ago, dauntingly thick near the base, but tapering slightly as it curves upwards.  Trembling slightly, he slides his palm all the way down to the tip, and nearly jumps out of his skin when Blaine’s hips jerk as he strokes his thumb across the slit.

“Oh my god,” he chokes out, but it’s not his voice he hears, it’s  _Blaine’s –_ Kurt whirls around until he’s facing the mirror again and oh – oh  _god,_ Blaine’s all red _,_ his lips are flushed and parted _,_ his dick is rock hard and jutting obscenely from between his legs, and  _Kurt did that._ This is what Blaine looks like when he’s turned on, and  _he_  made Blaine look like that.

“Holy shit,” Kurt gasps, his hand frozen on Blaine’s dick.  He can still stop this, he thinks dazedly, do the right thing and step back over the line he’s crossed before he’s so far gone that he comes back on the other side with a new ship and crew.  But when he goes to take his hand off Blaine’s dick, he – Blaine – lets out this soft, wounded whimper and his face tightens like he’s in  _pain,_ like he’s begging Kurt with his wide, lust-blown eyes and swollen red lips not to stop,  _please._

Kurt shuts his eyes and groans quietly.  “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”  He’s a horrible person, an actual horrible person who deserves to wear nothing but polyester for the rest of his life.  He starts stroking again, harder and faster, keeping his eyes closed and clinging to the few shreds of dignity he still has left.  This time, when he rubs his whole hand across the slick, flushed head of Blaine’s cock, Blaine’s entire body arches and he _moans,_ harsh and loud and sounding so wanton that it makes Kurt’s knees buckle.

He staggers forward and braces his weight against the mirror, his eyes flying open and meeting Blaine’s in the reflection.  With his face inches from the glass, it looks like Blaine’s right there, like he’s doing this for Kurt, like he needs Kurt to know, to see for himself just how much Blaine wants him.

Oh, screw this, if he’s going to do it, he might as well just go all the way.

“Kurt.”  He’s heard Blaine say his name before, dozens of times; he’d even spent a few fun-filled minutes earlier that afternoon, in front of another mirror, saying things like, “Oh Kurt, you’re way hotter than Neil Patrick Harris,” and “Kurt, I want you to have  _all_ the solos.”  He’s never heard Blaine’s voice like this, low and rough, like it’s being pushed out from deep within him.

Oh god, this must be Blaine’s  _sex voice._  He’s hearing Blaine’s sex voice and it’s saying  _his name,_ oh god oh fuck oh fuck.

“Kurt,” he says again, more slowly this time, so that he can watch the way Blaine’s flushed lips purse to form the vowel, and feel the click of his tongue on the final consonant.  “ _Kurt_ , I want you.  I want you so bad.”

Blaine’s panting even harder now, his chest heaving with every breath, and he’s fighting to keep his eyes open, to keep his moans from slurring his words.  “I’m so hard for you, Kurt.”  He jerks Blaine’s cock frantically, all traces of finesse gone and just going for straight speed, using Blaine’s own precome – oh god, he’s leaking so much, it’s so hot – to slick the way.

“I want you, please, Kurt.”  Blaine’s voice is almost all gone, lost in the stuttering rasp of his breathing, and he looks so desperate that he almost looks  _lost_.  “Oh-oh  _fuck,_ I need you, I want you all the time, you-you’re all I think about all the time.”  Oh fuck he’s close, he can feel it, the heat and pressure building low in his belly.  “I—your hands, y-your  _mouth,_ oh god, I’m gonna come, I’m… I’m gonna—” 

And he tries, he tries so hard to keep looking at Blaine’s face, but he can’t, he physically  _has_ to throw his head back and  _come,_ so hard that his legs give out completely.  He ends up half-sprawled in the tub, his hips still rutting helplessly into his hand as his dick jerks and spills burst after burst of milky fluid over his fist.  Kurt leans his head back against the cool porcelain and lets the cool water pour on his hot skin, waiting for the aftershocks to fade and for his heartbeat to slow.

“Oh my god,” Kurt murmurs through numb lips, still panting harshly.  “That was… oh my freaking  _god._ ”

He’s going to need another shower.  A seriously  _cold_ one, this time.  And then he’s going to call Blaine and they’re going to fix this so that he can drop out of Dalton and move to New Jersey or something because he’s never going to be able to look Blaine in the face ever again.

"Oh my god."

Well, he’ll start on that as soon as his legs start working again.


End file.
